


hands down (i'm too proud for love)

by shier



Series: hands all over [1]
Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, some questionable takes on non-hypothermia?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shier/pseuds/shier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Listen, kid</i>, he would like to say, especially after the first time they’d spent a whole day doing nothing in particular, when Bobby had pulled Junhwe into his lap and kissed him like Junhwe meant something, <i>this way lies heartbreak.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i. the working title for this was "i like you so much better when you're naked" [ida_marie.mp3]  
> ii. or: "risa is my inspiration and the reason I live"

  
  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Junhwe asks, peering down at Bobby who’s squatting against the wall near the entrance of Junhwe’s apartment complex. He draws his winter coat closer around himself because it’s fucking _cold_ and he hadn’t expected to practically trip over Bobby on his 10 second sprint from the carpark. It seems as though Bobby feels the same, because his face appears to be stiffly fixed in place as he tries to squint up at Junhwe.  
  
“You’re home!” Bobby says, in lieu of an actual explanation. He sounds excited, even if his voice is distinctly trembling. Probably because he’s at least 80% frozen, now, as evidenced by the crystals of ice scattered across his hair and eyebrows. “ _Finally_.”  
  
“Are you _crazy_?” Junhwe asks. It seems as though Bobby would snap in half if Junhwe’d tried to haul Bobby up because everything about him just screams _hello, I’m here to catch frostbite!_ “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”   
  
“I wanted to surprise you with dinner,” Bobby says, his voice small and thin and strained. Junhwe’s expression twists, then he’s reaching out to lend Bobby a hand. Bobby beams, but it doesn’t have quite the same effect when you’re essentially vibrating. His palm—lacking any sort of insulation, Junhwe notes, whether a glove or even some sort of lined plastic bag—is cold as ice when Junhwe takes it.   
  
“I had to work overtime,” Junhwe says in a matter-of-fact voice as he digs his free hand into his pocket to quickly let them both into the building. “I don’t think you heard my question. Are you crazy?”   
  
“About you? Yeah,” Bobby says, but the cheesiness of the line gets lost when his teeth chatter violently. Junhwe snatches the mostly solid plastic bag from Bobby with one hand, then takes Bobby’s with his other, hurrying him along the corridor towards the elevators. “Don’t look so... so mad.”   
  
“Right, because having you die at my doorstep is how I wanted to end my day,” Junhwe grumbles, and would’ve probably kept on grumbling had Bobby’s eyebrows—flecked with little spots of ice—not draw together with concern.   
  
“I’m sorry?” Bobby tries, as though he really doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, as though Junhwe’s fingers aren’t gripping onto alarmingly colder ones. “We can re-heat the burgers?”  
  
“That’s _beyond the point_ , asshole,” Junhwe grunts, impatiently glancing up at the numbers flashing higher and higher until it stops on his floor. Bobby looks at him like he’s about to scream at Bobby to leave, which technically wouldn’t be the first time. But he’s too wound up and angry to explain, and Bobby’s too cold and delirious to even begin to try and decode one of Junhwe’s moods.  
  
“But—“ Bobby starts, but Junhwe shuts him up with one withering glare and drops the bag of burgers by his shoe cabinet, then begins to undress Bobby. Normally, this would be a surprising turn of events for both parties, but today, Bobby’s just standing stock still, staring in confusion at Junhwe’s roaming hands. Which, really, only serves to make Junhwe madder.   
  
“Get into the shower,” Junhwe says calmly, as though he’s had perfect experience with hypothermia that wasn’t second-hand (third-hand? Possible completely inaccurate?) knowledge from the movies. “Turn the temperature up high but _don’t burn yourself_.” Their eyes meet and Bobby looks bashful, chastised, so Junhwe softens a little. “I’ll warm up the burgers. If they’re salvageable.” And it’s like the burgers are the magic word, because then Bobby’s lighting up, still shaking like he’s standing on a moving train, but that’s something at least. He darts forward quickly, pecking Junhwe’s check with unnervingly cold lips, then valiantly starts shedding his clothes and heads off in the direction of the toilet.  
  
Junhwe stares at the open door to his bathroom to the count of ten, ears picking up on the sounds of the shower turning, and then tells himself he doesn’t find it weird when he doesn’t hear Bobby’s obnoxiously bad renditions of famous pop songs. It’s fine. Bobby’s not going to die in there. And even if he is, it’s not really Junhwe’s concern, except for the fact that the corpse being in his house. And that they’ve been fucking. A lot. And that Bobby’s in college and Junhwe’s a 28-year-old music producer. He’s watched enough crime serials to know that nothing about that looks good in the slightest, actually, so Junhwe shoves those thoughts away in favour of retrieving the plastic bag, prodding the contents. They seem to more or less be in various states of soggy or frozen. Salvageable. Hopefully, Bobby is too.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bobby pads out a little later, dressed in one of Junhwe’s sweaters and sweatpants. Both are a little too big on him, the cuffs flopping over his hands and feet, making him look deceptively smaller than he really is. In reality, he could probably best Junhwe in a one-to-one fight to the death.   
  
“Cold,” is the first thing he says, running a hand through his wet hair, looking like he regrets his entire life.  
  
“You think?” Junhwe says lazily from the couch, coming off as though he hadn’t spent the last few minute fretting on whether or not he should go in. He pats the blankets he has next to him. “Dunno what the hell goes on in your head.”  
  
Bobby pulls off his best leery grin, though the effect _still_ hasn’t returned as he shuffles over and collapses onto Junhwe, disregarding the blankets completely. Junhwe grunts, pressing a palm gently to Bobby’s neck that _shouldn’t still be cold_. God. This is probably punishment for fraternizing with people nearly a decade younger than him. A life full of stupidity. Next to him, Bobby’s already getting comfortable.   
  
“You,” Bobby murmurs, several minutes too late. His sweatered arms go around Junhwe’s midriff in a grip that Junhwe’s no longer unfamiliar to and they curve almost automatically around each other. “Warm.”  
  
“Shit, the damage’s setting in, isn’t it?” Junhwe asks. And he means it as a joke, but even he can hear the concern in his own voice. Bobby glances up at him sharply, then takes a sweater paw to brush Junhwe’s hair out of his face.  
  
“Stop worrying, I’m hard to kill off.”  
  
“Unfortunately.”  
  
“That’s mean,” Bobby complains, his voice raising to a whine (which means he’s _fine_ ), “I can throw myself out your window now.”   
  
“I know you’re in performing arts,” Junhwe says, pulling Bobby’s hand away so he can rub Bobby’s cold ass fingers between his palms, “but can you _not_ be so dramatic when you almost froze to death?”  
  
“I was fine,” Bobby insists, but he’s still _shaking_ , so Junhwe (reluctantly) disentangles himself from him to pull up the blanket that Bobby’d neglected, draping it over him instead. “You’re just doing this so I can’t touch you.”  
  
“Sure, let’s go with that,” Junhwe says distractedly, concentrating on tucking the folds around Bobby properly, but not too tight so its suffocating for him. Bobby stays silent the entire time, and if there’s anything Junhwe’s every wary of, it’s a silent Bobby. (The fact he _knows_ this, however, is knowledge that doesn’t sit well with Junhwe.)   
  
“What?” Junhwe asks, when he looks up to see Bobby staring at him. It’s not the first time this has happened—he’s woken up one too many times in a warm bed with Bobby just peering sleepily at him. It’s a sort of infatuation, Junhwe tells himself, because Bobby’s young and Junhwe’s new and Junhwe’s _stable_ and an _adult_ and therefore attractive. Even Junhwe’s made the same mistakes back when he was Bobby’s age. He’s just too restrained to let it get as far as Bobby had with Junhwe. More importantly, it’s a passing, fleeting thing, that’ll go when Bobby’s life really gets started, and Junhwe would be nothing but a memory. A fond one, if this thing doesn’t end up in flames.  
  
“You’re cute when you’re focused,” Bobby says, then destroys Junhwe’s hard work by wriggle a hand out to press his (cold) thumb between Junhwe’s eyebrows. “There’s a thing _right_ here. I love it.”  
  
The words echo between them and they both stare at each other for a solid moment because they know exactly what he means when he says that. Junhwe’s heart thumps loudly in his chest, which is just _ridiculous_. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t _know_ what he means. He thinks a good time is Junhwe driving them up to a fancy restaurant and having dinner, then having slightly-drunk sex later. He doesn’t know.   
  
“And now you’re red,” Bobby continues, his sweatered hand sliding to the back of Junhwe’s neck. A small tug, and Junhwe finds himself drawing closer to Bobby, only stopping himself from crashing right down with a hand supported by the side of Bobby’s head.   
  
“I’m older than you,” Junhwe reminds him a little uselessly, feeling each and every one of Bobby’s miniscule localized earthquake under him. He doesn’t understand how Bobby can be smiling this much when he’s so very clearly shivering.   
  
“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that,” Bobby parrots after him. Junhwe barely has time to roll his eyes when Bobby tugs him down sharply to kiss him. His lips are cold, and when Junhwe’s nose brushes against his, it’s _freezing_. But that makes Bobby’s mouth all the hotter and distracting and yeah, Bobby may look like a sausage roll presently, but there’s a reason why Junhwe hasn’t left him in the dust after the first time they hooked up. Then again—  
  
“There’s no _way_ you’re getting naked,” Junhwe insists, pulling his head back and regretting it almost immediately. Bobby’s pliant, lips red from both the cold and Junhwe’s kiss, and holy shit Junhwe’s going to hell.   
  
“But you can,” Bobby immediately returns. Junhwe’s gotta admire the kid’s propensity for sexual innuendos. Or just sex, really. “And that’s all that really matters.”  
  
“Shut up and focus on not dying, please,” Junhwe says, but even then he catches Bobby’s hand in his—warmer, now, but not anywhere near what Junhwe knows his warmth to be like—and laces their fingers together. “Do you know how bad this’ll look for me if you die?”  
  
“Aw,” Bobby says dryly, “you care.”   
  
_Of course I do_ , Junhwe thinks to himself as Bobby frees another hand to audaciously palm Junhwe’s ass, _I’m pretty much fucked in this area_ , but says none of it aloud.   
  
“Life in jail is probably shitty,” Junhwe agrees, leaning down to kiss Bobby’s temple, and then finds that he can’t quite stop until he ends up trailing kisses down the side of Bobby’s face, to which Bobby makes a soft sound of contentment. _I’m_ utterly _fucked_ , Junhwe adds to himself. “Capital punishment is worse.”  
  
“Only you would talk about the death penalty when we’re _cuddling_ ,” Bobby sniffs, but he’s wearing that glazed look he does when he thinks Junhwe’s done something particularly worthy of sticking around for. It’s a look that Junhwe hates to admit that he’s trying to induce more of, because it does something funny to him. Makes him feel like he can do anything. And _that’s_ the most dangerous thought of them all.   
  
“Some day I should impose a duct tape rule for you,” Junhwe says, insistently place Bobby’s hand back under the blanket. The very next second, he’s moving his hand back up to the small of Junhwe’s back, wearing a challenging, shit-eating grin. Junhwe rolls his eyes. “Gotta wear duct tape over your mouth every time you’re here.”  
  
“First of all,” Bobby declares, his hand sneaking lower and lower until he’s slipping it into the backpocket of Junhwe’s sweatpants, “that’s kinky. Secondly, how in the _world_ am I supposed to blow you like that?”   
  
“You have hands,” Junhwe answers without missing a beat, and as he says that, Bobby’s digging his fingers into the curve of Junhwe’s ass. Even through two layers of cotton Junhwe can _still_ feel that Bobby’s hand is cold.   
  
“You’re so mean to me,” Bobby complains, but it’s a joke that doesn’t hold much water, any more. There was a time when Bobby couldn’t say this shit because it actually was true. But it’s been several months and several defining moments of their relationship later (mostly ones that involved Junhwe’s moments of weaknesses, because that’s what Bobby is, after all, Junhwe’s _weakness_ ).   
  
“I’m not the one who almost froze my ass off,” Junhwe bites back, and for a second, there’s silence. Junhwe’s really starting to worry if you can get frostbite in the brain because Bobby _always_ has something to say, even if not aloud.   
  
“You’re really worried, huh?”   
  
Junhwe retracts everything he’s said about Bobby being too quiet. Bobby isn’t quiet enough. But it’s late and Junhwe’s had a really long day and for one, heart-stopping moment, he’d thought that Bobby was going to be really sick. So that in comparison to this... well. It’s not like Junhwe chooses his weaknesses.  
  
He doesn’t respond immediately; instead, he slides a hand through Bobby’s messy, drying hair, carding his fingers through it gently as he kisses the tip of Bobby’s nose, then his lips, then his forehead, _then_ says, “Yeah, I was. Problem?”  
  
Now that the shivering’d died down, Junhwe can feel Bobby’s heart beating between the layers of blanket. _Speeding up_ between the layers of blanket. He doesn’t flush, which isn’t fair, because Junhwe turns red far too easily for his age. Or perhaps it’s just for Bobby—he can’t tell which is worse any more. Donghyuk would say that Junhwe only thinks they’re bad because he thinks with his brain. Junhwe doesn’t understand—with what other organ is he supposed to use to make logical decisions?  
  
“None whatsoever,” Bobby says seriously, his eyebrows drawing together. He frees his other hand, too, and let’s his fingertips (now only slightly chilly) run over the side of Junhwe’s face. Then he’s cupping the side of Junhwe’s jaw, thumbing Junhwe’s lower lip with a look of intense concentration, like he’s trying to make sure that the next time he blinks, Junhwe’ll still be there. To this, Junhwe’s heart beats in triple time. So maybe Donghyuk’s right, after all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They spend most of dinner bickering over whether or not Bobby’s burgers were still edible (they still eat it anyway) and whether or not Bobby was too incapacitated to be fed (he’s not; Junhwe’s firm on this). Afterwards, to prove that he’s no longer going to die suddenly from hypothermia (“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Junhwe says doubtfully), he insists on carrying Junhwe to bed, bridal style. Junhwe almost falls to the ground and breaks his neck because he _is_ taller and no amount of muscles is going to compensate for physical imbalance. But they make it to bed safely and Bobby plasters himself to Junhwe’s side by insisting that he’s “cold” and that he needs Junhwe to “put your arms really tightly around me and make sure I don’t die” and that “some CPR won’t be harmful”. Junhwe yawns, loudly, and turns to his side to sleep. Bobby takes that as a sign and quietens down, settling in closer.   
  
Junhwe imagines that if his eyes had been opened then, Bobby would’ve been wearing that look that said he was a little too into Junhwe for Junhwe to be remotely near comfortable with it. As if on cue, Bobby presses in closer, his lips settled over the mole at the juncture of Junhwe’s neck. When his words come, they’re soft in a way that’s only auditory.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Junhwe wakes up Bobby’s _night, love you_ ringing in his head and a pounding in his throat that he’s not quite sure is entirely because of a residual nightmare he can’t remember. Whatever it is, his bed is now empty, and he can hear Bobby messing around in the bathroom. For a moment, Junhwe closes his eyes and considers what he’s life’d become, and wonders if he can eventually come to terms with it. He _has_ , technically, he just know it’s a momentary thing, fleeting fast, like cars stopping together at a traffic light. But when the light turns green again, they’re gonna go zooming off, never to be seen again.  
  
“Are you awake?” Bobby’s voice comes first, rough and low from sleep, and then Bobby’s sliding into bed next to him, warm and solid and familiar. Junhwe’s chest constricts for a hot second, then he groans.   
  
“You’re awake,” Bobby concludes, a little too cheerily as he slides an arm under Junhwe’s neck. Pressed up against him like this, Junhwe can feel his morning boner and he marvels at the joys of young adulthood. Though Junhwe technically still _is_ one, the age gap between him and Bobby’s sizeable enough for Donghyuk to shoot him knowing looks whenever Bobby calls him up in the small hours of the morning.   
  
“And you’re back to normal,” Junhwe observes, but then Bobby’s on his lap, hands pinned to the sides of Junhwe’s head. He forces his eyes open, involuntarily yawning as he squints up at Bobby. The room’s illuminated with the translucent colour of Junhwe’s curtains and he has no doubt that it’s a hot day outside. But in the cool silence of Junhwe’s room, the brightest thing is Bobby’s smile as he beams down at Junhwe as if he has nothing more he wants in this world. It’s an exhilarating feeling, and one Junhwe has to remind himself that won’t last.   
  
“I told you it’s _nothing_ ,” and he says it with such the careless bravado that’s innately _Bobby_ that Junhwe has to roll his eyes. That he wants to roll Bobby over onto his back and remind him that he isn’t exactly the bastion of cool and in control. Then again, between the two of them, _he’s_ the one who’s completely comfortable to remain in a constant state of undress.   
  
“Yeah?” Junhwe asks, and then does exactly as he’d planned. Now Bobby’s looking up at him, slightly dazed and vacant, but he’s learnt long ago that Bobby’s neither one of those things. Not when it comes to practical stuff, mostly. With Junhwe, however, Junhwe wonders if he’s allowed to give people advice to warn them away from him. _Listen, kid_ , he would say, especially after the first time they’d spent a whole day doing nothing in particular, when Bobby had pulled Junhwe into his lap and kissed him like Junhwe was a wonder to behold, _this way lies heartbreak_. “I guess you won’t be getting _I almost died_ sex.”  
  
“That _exists_?” Bobby asks, eyes widening almost comically, his hands already finding their way under the band of Junhwe’s sweatpants, moving lower and lower and lower, leaving trails of heat in its wake. Junhwe feels electrified, like the time his mother had given him an expensive vase to carry. _You’re responsible for this now_ , she said, although probably because _she_ didn’t want to hold it on their walk home, _be careful_.   
  
Be careful. Bobby isn’t anywhere as near as fragile as that vase (that’d turned out to be a cheap counterfeit sold for an authentic price), no, Bobby’s muscle and sinew and hard edges. But he’s delicate, too, in the aftermath of their not-quite-fights because you don’t _get_ into fights with people whom you were only sleeping with. You only get into fights that involved replacing bars of soap or toilet rolls or whether he finished Junhwe’s eggs without telling. The kind of fights that didn’t matter. The kind of fights, Junhwe tells himself firmly, that absolutely _did not_ make up the big picture.   
  
And then Bobby has a hand wrapped around Junhwe’s cock and all cognition flies out of the window. He laughs, awkward teeth flashing as Junhwe tries to catch him in a kiss that they both miss. Then he laughs again at Junhwe’s unimpressed glare, even as his breath comes out slightly stuttered as Bobby works his hand over his length. If there’s one thing that Junhwe can commend him for, it’s that the kid’s damn good at a handjob.   
  
“Fuck me,” Bobby tells him as easily as he would say, “Buy me fried chicken.” Which, given the nature of their relationship, was probably one and the same. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck m–“  
  
“ _Alright_ ,” Junhwe huffs in a way that has less to do with his temperament and more with how Bobby’s hand twists at the head of Junhwe’s dick. _Bastard_ , he thinks, but it’s coloured fondly. “Can’t do it if you keep _touching_ me.”   
  
The good thing about being on the flipside of young adulthood, it’s that he can pull Bobby’s hand out of his pants without (much) regret so he can pin both of Bobby’s wrists above his head instead.  
  
“Kinky,” Bobby says, but his breath’s caught in his throat, gulping loud enough to be heard in the silent room. And then he’s pushing himself up to meet Junhwe’s mouth with his. Unlike last night, everything of Bobby is hot, this time, so much so that Junhwe nearly forgets what he’d set out to do—to pin down both of Bobby’s wrists with a hand, making Bobby whinge between kisses.  
  
“Too handsy,” Junhwe informs him, a little too breathlessly. With his free hand, he works on tugging off Bobby’s ( _Junhwe’s_ ) sweatpants, which is no mean feat when Bobby keeps distracting him.   
  
“Didn’t know you’d like this,” Bobby observes teasingly, as Junhwe tugs his pants off the rest of the way, releasing Bobby’s dick as full evidence that whatever Junhwe was doing, Bobby likes it. _A lot_.   
  
“I figured that I’m _this close_ to getting the duct tape,” Junhwe explains, pushing up the hem of Bobby’s sweater and gripping hold of his hips to trail open-mouthed kisses down the curve of his hipbones, thigh muscles shifting as he wiggles his crotch in Junhwe’s general direction.  
  
“I _knew_ I almost froze to death for a reason,” Bobby says, pillowing his head on his hands as he watches Junhwe almost lazily, smugly. He looks too much like the boys Junhwe dated in college, like the boys who are his compose his list of _The Reason Why I Don’t Date Is.._. It drives him crazy that that’s probably precisely why he likes Bobby so much.   
  
He doesn’t vocalize any of this; just smirks back up at Bobby and then grips onto the base of his length, sinking his mouth over Bobby’s dick without much ado. They’ve done this enough times for him to know how to build up the tease—how to work his way up from what Bobby doesn’t quite like to what ramps up Bobby’s moaning to Sports Game Commentator levels of enthusiasm. This time, though, this time he doesn’t make a sound as Junhwe blows him, choosing instead to bite down on his lip, eyes screwing shut, then open again, as if he can’t quite decide if he wants to watch Junhwe or not.   
  
“ _Don’t_ —” is the only word that comes out of him when Junhwe releases his dick with a suctioned _pop_ , but his next words are drowned in a series of stuttered breathing and soft gasps as Junhwe replaces his mouth with his hand, working Bobby over quickly. His eyes follow Junhwe’s movement over to the bed-side table, wrangling the lube and the condom out of the top drawer.   
  
He forces himself to slow down and take his hands off of Bobby as he pours the cold liquid onto his hand, warming it between his palms thoroughly. Bobby knows what he’s doing; his dazed gaze sharpens as his attention shifts from Junhwe’s hands to his face. _Averse to the cold_ , is one of the the fun facts Junhwe has about Bobby, rattling around noisily in his head at any given moment. Then Bobby silently hitches his legs up higher, as if to say _c’mon_.   
  
Junhwe starts with two fingers, and then three, and by the time he’s got a rhythm going, Bobby’s abandoned his attempts at keeping his hands to himself to grab the back of Junhwe’s neck, drawing him closer.  
  
“What am I supposed to do?” he asks breathily, a non-sequitor, and entirely too coherent for Junhwe’s tastes. So Junhwe retracts his fingers and wipes them on Bobby’s sweater ( _his_ sweater) and rolls the condom on, slicking himself up. The whine he expects to come doesn’t, but Bobby’s eyes are fixed on Junhwe’s and this? This is getting a little too intimate for Junhwe’s liking. This feels like disaster brewing in the air, when all Junhwe wants to do is _come_.   
  
What the hell was that question, anyway?  
  
So he draws back with a sharp grin, the one that makes him look predatory, the look he uses when he’s pulling at a bar and says, “Let me fuck you.” Bobby’s expression shifts into something more indeterminable, and then into that familiar open-mouthed gasp as Junhwe slowly pushes in. He doesn’t wait for Bobby to adjust, because Bobby’s not that expensive vase he held onto all those years ago. Bobby’s sturdier, hot all around Junhwe, and firm in his grip on Junhwe’s ass and neck and when he insistently drags Junhwe down again, his breath coming out warm against Junhwe’s throat as Junhwe snaps his hips against Bobby’s thighs. He wants to draw this out, he finds, because Bobby’s always about quick hands and quicker orgasms, and Junhwe _had_ been perfectly fine with that. Past tense.  
  
“Cat got your tongue?” Junhwe asks, in between drawn out, surprisingly chaste kisses. Bobby laughs, but it isn’t like he usually does, larger than life and too loud for most public spaces. It’s smaller, warmer, a laugh Junhwe hopes only he elicits. It’s a rumble in Junhwe’s ears that he wants to keep, and so he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the side of Bobby’s neck, hand sliding up to grip his side firmly, angling his hips in a way that he knows would— Bobby makes a choked, moaning sound against Junhwe’s temple, fingers tightening around his hair. It hurts, dully, causing Junhwe to pick up the pace and for Bobby’s moaning to louden.   
  
“You feel so _fucking_ good,” Bobby mumbles, low and encouraging, but not as encouraging as the wet breaths choking out of him as Junhwe grips his dick, pumping him slowly, almost lazily. He’s in no hurry, and when he draws back to look at Bobby, he can see that Bobby’s in no hurry either. “Fucking tease.”  
  
“You love it,” Junhwe says, and it’s the last thing he gets out before Bobby crosses his legs behind Junhwe’s waist and flips them both over, causing Junhwe to land on his back with a startled _whump_. The bed’s warm, he registers distantly, blinking as Bobby makes a slow show of stripping his ( _Junhwe’s_ ) sweater, hips moving lazily over as he works circles around Junhwe’s cock. He’s going to die some day, and it’s going to be because of Bobby, Junhwe just _knows_ it. “You done?”  
  
“Yeah— _fuck_ ,“ the end of Bobby’s sentence tapers off somewhere between a groan and a growl as Junhwe sits up and digs his fingers into Bobby’s hips, slamming him down again and again and again. Bobby gets the message, eventually, pressing his palms to Junhwe’s shoulders as he fucks himself down on Junhwe’s dick without much finesse, mumbling Junhwe’s name between his moans. This frees Junhwe’s hand, allowing him to lick a stripe down his palm (that elicits another breathless laugh from Bobby) to curl it around Bobby’s length, slowly jerking him off (that elicits a groan, his nails pressing into the planes of Junhwe’s shoulders, which, _ow_ ).   
  
Junhwe can tell that Bobby’s close, so he curves a hand around Bobby’s ass to help him thrust up and back down even quicker and he curses, eyes squeezing shut as a bright red colours his chest and his shoulders and his neck. Junhwe makes a noise that’s drowned out only because Bobby’s being so fucking _loud_ about how good this feels, a blur of, “Fuck me, fuck me fuck me fuck me _touch me properly godamnit Junhwe_ —“ that grows increasingly faster so Junhwe leans forward to bite none-too-gently down on Bobby’s collarbone to shut him up. He does, but only because he’s straining from coming into Junhwe’s fist, thighs and ass convulsing around Junhwe in a way that almost sends him over the edge, but not quite _yet._ He waits, instead, for Bobby to come down from his high, curls his toes against his sheets so he doesn’t come as well, waits until Bobby’s panting, leaning forward to press them chest to chest, his head heavy against Junhwe’s shoulder. Then he pushes Bobby back and hitches a leg up to sling it over his shoulder, fucking him quickly this time, without any show of slow pretense.   
  
It’s a little distracting when he’s trying to come and Bobby’s just staring up at him with a look Junhwe’s familiar with, but doesn’t want to put a name to. He drops his head to the pillow and Bobby grabs the chance to grab Junhwe’s ass, tongue tracing the shell of Junhwe’s ears as he murmurs filthy, coaxing words. Junhwe never thought he’d be one for dirty talk until... _this_ , and then his hips are stuttering and Bobby’s gripping hard onto the flesh of Junhwe’s ass to help him along as he moans _Jiwon, fuck_ to the sounds of Bobby’s laughter.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Let me get this straight,” Junhwe repeats, trying not to make a scene in the middle of the restaurant. “You want _me_ , a grown-ass man, to attend your friend’s birthday party.” 

  
Bobby looks somewhat surprised, as though he hadn’t expected Junhwe to say this. Which is a foreign look on him, and one that Junhwe doesn’t like a single bit.   
  
“Okay, look, I’m not gonna be chaperoning kids all night—“  
  
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Bobby cuts in, and he doesn’t sound _standoffish_ per se, but he’s using his _no big deal_ voice, which means that it’s a big deal. _But_ , Junhwe wants to protest, feeling like the younger one in this exchange, somehow, _we’re not dating_. “It’s just a... a get together. With some drinking.”  
  
“Okay,” Junhwe says again, dragging out the last syllable this time. He fishes around for some half-assed excuse, but finds absolutely none and spears his chive dumpling with a level of frustration that he realizes isn’t about Bobby at all. It’s that he _does_ want to meet the people Bobby constantly talked about, disregarding the fact that he might feel like he’s at a parent-teacher conference. “When?”   
  
It doesn’t turn out too badly. Most of the kids there are well on their way to being inebriated by the time Junhwe arrives, and Bobby stays by his side the entire time, first by shoving a beer in his hand, then dragging him around to say hi to various party-goers. None of their names stick, except for the kid called Kim Hanbin who seemed a little too prone to yelling and a little too bright-eyed and a little too suspicious of Junhwe for Junhwe to be able to like him.   
  
Granted, Junhwe would be suspicious of Junhwe too, if his friend was as nice and trusting as Bobby could be, especially after the first time they met, but this was different. Hanbin looks at Junhwe as if Junhwe was going to pull out a gun in the middle of the party—doubtful, and with a level of unwarranted dislike considering this was the first time they’d met. Halfway through the party—halfway through watching Hanbin laugh at one of Bobby’s eye-roll worthy jokes—it clicks, and Junhwe has to take his drink out to the balcony.  
  
He’s seriously considering just _leaving_ because it’s been a long while since he’d been surrounded by people openly making out and groping each other in an open space and he isn’t sure he’d like to reintroduce that sort of shit into his life again. Nonetheless, he chooses the spot on the balcony furthest away from the now moaning couple, eyeing them warily. Had this how he’d panned his life out to be when he graduated from college? Well. Attending a college party when he was nearly 30 definitely hadn’t been part of the plan. Getting into bed with a guy ten years his junior was completely unexpected.  
  
“Hey,” comes Bobby’s voice from behind him, as though Junhwe thinking about him alone could summon his presence. Junhwe slides his phone into his pocket and finishes his beer—both actions elicit a raised eyebrow from Bobby. “I thought you left.”  
  
“You’re not nearly drunk enough for this kind of party,” Junhwe replies, because he can’t very well say _why did you ask me to come?_ He has tact, albeit slightly elusive and faulty at times.   
  
“You don’t need me drunk to get in my pants,” Bobby says. His wary look melts into a grin as he approaches Junhwe, hands planting on Junhwe’s hips. There’s no one else around that isn’t inebriated or otherwise occupied, so Junhwe reciprocates, sliding an arm around Bobby’s neck. “I’ll do that all for you sober, baby.”  
  
“Jesus,” Junhwe snorts, even as Bobby laughs at himself, “how do you even have _friends_ when you say shit like that?”   
  
“Ask them, they’re right in there,” Bobby says with an easy shrug, and then he’s leaning up to kiss the corner of Junhwe’s mouth out of no where, eyes bright in a way that suggested that he’s at least a little bit drunk. Kissing in public, for them, was off-limits. At least, Junhwe had thought so. It’s like one of those unsaid rules, like _dinner_ is fine but _dates_ aren’t, like they’ve only ever introduced each other as _my friend_. “We can go, if you want.” Bobby’s gaze lowers from Junhwe’s lips to his crotch, then back up again to waggle his eyebrows. “My room’s empty. Or we could go to yours.”   
  
_Fucking in a dorm room, how classy_ , Junhwe wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, he sets his beer down on the ledge so he can cover Bobby’s hands with his, pulling them away from his hips. “You’re nuts,” Junhwe says, and thinks of Hanbin’s eyes following Bobby, snapping to focus on Bobby’s hand on Junhwe’s back, “there’s a party going on in there with _tons_ of hot, young, impressionable people—“  
  
“—that’s your line,” Bobby interrupts, turning his hands so he can grip loosely onto Junhwe’s.  
  
“Hey, fuck you, I didn’t know,” Junhwe says, because he didn’t, back when they first met. If he _did_ , they probably wouldn’t be standing here right now. “I’m just saying that college me wouldn’t wanna miss out on that.”College Junhwe would probably have been dragged to the party by Donghyuk, and then spent all night trying to suss out if he wanted to get drunk on cheap alcohol _while_ getting drunk on cheap alcohol. No hook-ups anywhere.   
  
“ _But_ ,” Bobby protests with a whine, and Junhwe knows he’s about to say some other stupid shit that no one else with even a bit dignity would say, so Junhwe cuts him off with a quick kiss. Strike two. At _least_ it works, because Bobby looks stunned, and then glances around him like he expects someone to catch them. Junhwe swallows.   
  
“Some people have work in the morning, you know,” Junhwe continues, like he hadn’t noticed anything. “Some people actually need sleep to function.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby says, waving one of their joint hands in the air. “Get wasted, get laid.” Bobby pauses for a second. It’s a second too long, in Junhwe’s opinion. “I get it.”   
  
“Or if you wanna go back to your room to study,” Junhwe says, because the situation seems to have tensed, somehow. This is not the kinda thing he wants to leave behind. “I’m sure your parents would be proud as hell.”  
  
It works; Bobby laughs and Junhwe breathes a little easier.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He’s walking back to his car when Hanbin accosts him. Unlike Bobby, he’s clearly well on his way to being drunk. The kind where he can barely walk in a straight line without tripping over his own two feet. The kind where he may potentially projectile vomit all over Junhwe, so Junhwe gives him a wide berth when he approaches. And by wide berth, Junhwe means he’s standing on the other side of his car as Hanbin checks it out.  
  
“So,” Hanbin starts—his voice’s in a higher register than when he was at the party. Junhwe doesn’t think this would be an appropriate moment to laugh. “Jiwon.”  
  
“Jiwon,” Junhwe says agreeably, though the name feels weird on his tongue. He only ever says it when they’re between sheets, Junhwe realizes, because he tries hard not to refer to Bobby by his Korean name in the rare event he talks to a third-party about him.  
  
“You’re dating him,” Hanbin adds, like that’s some sort of revelation.  
  
“No,” Junhwe corrects slowly, but he’s not sure what Bobby’s been telling all his friends.  
  
“No?” Hanbin echoes, like a particularly slow child. Junhwe wonders if Hanbin’s drunk enough that Junhwe can get in his car and drive off and pretend this whole thing was a figment of Hanbin’s imagination. “But you act like you are.”  
  
“Look,” Junhwe starts, realizing that Bobby’s friend’s trying to intimidate him. Or some form of intimidation, anyway, because Junhwe’s at least a half a head taller than him. And sober. And he has access to a functioning vehicle. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but—“  
  
“That you guys are only fucking,” Hanbin interrupts.  
  
“Then we’re on the same page.”  
  
“You don’t bring people you fuck to parties to meet their friends,” Hanbin points out. _Thank you Captain Obvious_ , Junhwe thinks, and internally congratulates himself for not rolling his eyes.  
  
“Do I look like I can read his mind?” Junhwe questions, raising an eyebrow at the perfect level for looking incredulous and disbelieving. “Because I might be older than you guys, but I can tell you that telepathy doesn’t come with age.”  
  
“I don’t like you,” Hanbin outrightly says. This time, both Junhwe’s eyebrows raise because he really _can’t believe_ he’s having this conversation in a parking lot of a college. A confrontation, even, but he’s pretty sure he’d laugh if he recounted it as such to Donghyuk later. “But I like Jiwon and Jiwon likes you."  
  
“He’s a big boy,” Junhwe says, and Hanbin colours a light red. Junhwe wonders what things would be like if he’d been hooking up with Hanbin instead of Bobby and ends up snorting aloud.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hanbin shoots back, suddenly on defense.  
  
“Nothing. He’s an adult. He knows what he’s doing.” But even as he says that, Junhwe knows that he doesn’t quite believe it. Bobby, he realizes, has a tendency of throwing his heart first into any situation. “ _I_ know what I’m doing.”  
  
“Okay,” Hanbin says, slowly, as if considering that answer. He sways dangerously on the spot, leaving Junhwe to wonder just how much of that gross alcoholic punch he’d consumed and how much one person could ingest before he needed to be hospitalized. “Okay.”  
  
“Do you... need me to call him?” Junhwe asks, hoping to hell the answer is _no_.  
  
“I,” Hanbin starts, swallowing so hard Junhwe can see his adam’s apple bobbing even in this terrible light, “I just care about him. A lot.”  
  
“Yeah,” Junhwe says, figuring that Hanbin probably won’t remember most of this conversation, figuring that that’s the one thing they both have in common. “Me too.” 

  



	2. Chapter 2

“What the fuck are you doing?” Junhwe demands, fisting a hand in Bobby’s hair to pull him up from where he’s currently blowing Junhwe. Or Junhwe had assumed he’d been trying to.   
  
“I saw this thing on the internet,” Bobby says, apparently by way of explanation, wiping his spit on the back of his palm so he doesn’t look completely rabid when he talks.   
  
“And you didn’t think to tell _me_ before you started?” Junhwe asks, loosening his grip on Bobby’s hair somewhat because Bobby’s grinning like he finds the whole thing amusing. And to be honest, it’s a little hard to stay annoyed when Bobby’s hand is firm on his dick and, _oh yeah_ , it feels good in more than one way to know someone who knows exactly what you like.   
  
“Figured I’d surprise you,” Bobby says with a shrug, actually kissing the head of Junhwe’s cock. Junhwe closes his eyes and tries to keep himself in check. As to _what_ he’s keeping in check, Junhwe has no idea. He has come to the dismaying conclusion that he has a lot of latent feelings when it comes to Bobby, and some no longer as latent as he would like it at all.  
  
“Just get on with it,” Junhwe orders. And Bobby complies.   
  
Despite the lack of technique in... whatever the hell he’s trying to do—Junhwe’s a little too occupied to try and it out—he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm and gusto alone, hitching one of Junhwe’s thighs up and over his shoulder so Junhwe has little room to move and has to resort to gripping Bobby’s hair. Which Bobby likes, Junhwe’s realized. That, and Junhwe being loud; it’s like Bobby’s not happy if Junhwe only comes, he has to be a moaning mess while he’s at it.   
  
It’s a little embarrassing because the last time Junhwe’d been like this, he was sixteen and new to this whole hands-in-my-pants-that-aren’t-mine deal. But it’s hard to feel embarrassed when Bobby’s wiping his mouth on his shoulder as he shifts up against Junhwe as he tries to remember that breathing is a thing, carding his clean fingers through Junhwe’s hair.  
  
“The internet never fails,” he’s saying, and Junhwe would argue if not for the fact that he’d be a hypocrite if he disagreed. That, and his mental faculties are not working quite right. And then Bobby ruins it by asking, “Can I take a picture?”  
  
“ _What_?” Junhwe asks, eyes snapping open to find Bobby’s face leering down at him.  
  
“What?” Bobby returns, as though it’s a perfectly normal question. “You’re cute and you’re blushing from my hard work and research. It’s a proud moment in my life.”   
  
“Do you sweet talk everyone you blow like this?” Junhwe asks, snorting as he appraises Bobby skeptically.  
  
“Only the hot ones,” Bobby shoots back immediately. Before Junhwe can reply, Bobby tacks on an extra, “Only you.”   
  
The silence hangs between them as Junhwe blinks blearily up at Bobby, his brain telling him to _say something_ before this turns into something that Junhwe can’t fix. Hanbin’s face floats into the forefront of his mind—it’s really not the kind of imagery he can appreciate post-orgasm. Or any time at all, really. So Junhwe says, “Shut up,” and grips onto Bobby’s hips to flip him over. “Okay, my turn, asshole.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bobby ends up visiting his grandparents in the country during a long weekend and for the first time, Junhwe finds himself at lunch far away at the studio, with Donghyuk sitting on one side of the table, and Jinhwan on the other.   
  
Donghyuk’s telling them a story about one of his students. He works in elementary school, which means he has an unsurprising amount of stories that involves crying and defecation and a surprising amount of tragic ones as well. It’s not that Junhwe’s not listening but his phone’s buzzing every few minute, signalling a new text from Bobby from his place at a wedding lunch, so it’s a little difficult to stay focused.  
  
“Someone’s distracted,” Jinhwan notes, and Junhwe quickly pockets his phone when he sees that there are _pictures_ coming in. The last thing Junhwe needs is for his friends to find out that a college kid’s texting him badly angled images of his dick followed by a series of symbols that has Junhwe seriously evaluating his choices in life.   
  
“I’m not,” Junhwe insists. To prove his point, he begins to rattle the details of Donghyuk’s story back at them.  
  
“Someone’s _defensive_ ,” Jinhwan corrects, just because he’s pocket-sized and cute and unlikely to get punched. Junhwe rolls his eyes.   
  
“Don’t bother him,” Donghyuk interrupts placatingly as he slurps up some pasta, “he’s dealing with _feelings_.”  
  
“Oh,” Jinhwan says, and then he’s wearing a grin that makes him look like the cat who got the canary. It makes Junhwe’s survival instinct blare like a foghorn, because it’s _Jinhwan_ and Jinhwan is _terrifying_. “Who?”  
  
“It’s that guy from when we were at the bar for Jiho’s birthday,” Junhwe replies, a little too quickly. He figures he might as well make the plunge before Jinhwan extracts it excruciatingly from him. Who knows what other sort of information Jinhwan might dredge up? Sometimes, it’s like Jinhwan knows shit about Junhwe before Junhwe knows it himself, and he wants everything he knows and feels about Bobby to be everything there is. “We’re just...”  
  
“Sleeping together,” Donghyuk offers.  
  
“Fuck buddies,” Jinhwan corrects.  
  
“Potentially getting married,” Donghyuk piles on.   
  
Junhwe chucks half a bread roll at him. “Do you want to hear the story or not?” he asks, ignoring the way his phone’s vibrating against his thigh. Even in text message form, Bobby never shuts up.   
  
“Is this the _story_ story or is this the get-Jinhwan-off-my-back story?” Jinhwan asks. Junhwe takes a sip of his drink and shrugs, as if to say _either way, this is the only one you’re getting_.   
  
“We met at a bar,” Junhwe repeats, listing the the events off of his fingers, trying to stay as vague as possible, “we fucked, we fucked again. He left his wallet at my place. We meet and then we fuck.” The story sounds bad, if he puts it like this, like they had some sort of magnetism that kept drawing them together again and again and again. “We exchange numbers, and we’ve been fucking since.”  
  
“I have no idea what they taught you in school, but that’s not a story,” Jinhwan comments, after a short pause. “What’s his _name_? What does he _do_?”  
  
Donghyuk chokes on his drink, but probably only because the first time Junhwe’d told this story to him, Junhwe had been groaning and complaining and lamenting the fact that he was attracted to someone named _Bobby_ at all. Still, it doesn’t help his case with Jinhwan, so Junhwe kicks him under the table.  
  
“Ow, _Junhwe_ ,” Donghyuk complains, pulling a face. “Answer him.”  
  
“His name is technically not important,” Junhwe says instead, shredding another bread roll to stuff it in his mouth. “We just have a lot of surprisingly good sex.”   
  
“And you spend a lot of time together not fucking as well,” Donghyuk points out. “I’ve been blown off _so_ many times that—“  
  
“Yeah, well, I was busy being blown off too,” Junhwe answers off-handedly, stuffing the rest of his bread roll in Donghyuk’s mouth to shut him up. Donghyuk raises his eyebrows knowingly, but focuses on chewing instead of wrecking havoc on Junhwe’s life. “That’s all there is to it.”  
  
“I swear every time we talk about your love life, it’s like we’re back in high school again,” Jinhwan complains. Their eyes meet and Junhwe’s instantly dragged back to the times they’d spent squashed up against each other on the school bus, when Jinhwan had spent a majority of his time deflecting confessions from the general student population, and used Junhwe’s surly aptitude for life as an excuse that _my boyfriend won’t like it, sorry!_ even when they’d only ever kissed exactly once and Jinhwan had laughed right after that.  
  
“Then _don’t_ ask about it,” Junhwe says, pointing a fork in Jinhwan’s direction, “besides, most of that shit was _your_ fault.” This time, it’s Jinhwan’s turn to shrug, though he does look apologetic about it. And it shows, because the next thing he asks is, “How long?”  
  
“Three, maybe four months?” Junhwe says, knowing exactly what Jinhwan’s going to say next. In his head, Yunhyeong’s voice rings out as loud (“The six months rule!”) as it had the first time they’d conceived this theory about how long one person can casually date someone before you have to replace the word _casually_ with _seriously_.  
  
“The six months rule,” Jinhwan says, almost simultaneously.  
  
“The six months rule,” Junhwe echoes with a sigh.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bobby returns with a flurry of stories and strange small-town snacks that has Junhwe wrinkling his nose and questioning if Bobby’d been joking. Of course he hadn’t, of course he just wants to bring a small piece of where he grew up to Junhwe. Junhwe’s tempted to point out that _they’re not dating_ , but saying it seems petty, somehow, after Hanbin and after that meeting with Jinhwan. 

  
And maybe they don’t share the same sentiments, after all, because he’s eating some sort of preserved fruit while channel surfing when Bobby emerges from the toilet, looking slightly pale.  
  
“I told you not to eat the green one,” Junhwe says, referring to the dodgy can of mystery snacks Bobby had procured from the local convenience store. The year on the expiry date had faded out with age, but Bobby had insisted that anything canned could be consumed at any point in time, no questions asked.   
  
“It tastes just fine, you coward,” Bobby returns, and Junhwe scoffs because self-preservation _isn’t_ cowardice. He’s silent for a few more moments; Junhwe thinks he’s really going to hurl, but then he blurts out, “So my grandparents asked me if I was seeing anyone.”  
  
“Oh,” Junhwe says, not quite sure where this was going. _If_ it was even going anywhere, because the past hour had been a series of Shit Bobby’s Grandparents Said (and then some) so this wasn’t really anything new. Or Junhwe would really like to believe it is, anyway.   
  
“I said yeah, sure, sort of,” Bobby continues, his eyes fixed on the television. Junhwe’d stopped surfing on some soap opera, and the lady on screen was now screaming a little hysterically. Or perhaps she was crying—Junhwe’s isn’t focusing enough to tell. “I mean... right?”  
  
A beat. And then: “I have no idea what you’re asking me,” Junhwe answers, not quite lying, as he swallows the preserved fruit in his mouth. It leaves a tangy, sweet aftertaste. “Are you asking me something?”   
  
Bobby fixes him with a look that makes Junhwe feel uncomfortable; he’s the older one here, for fuck’s sake, why is it that _he’s_ the one feeling out of his element?  
  
“Never mind,” Bobby says, and he really means it, Junhwe knows. He’s not the type to beat about the bush. As far as Bobby was concerned, this matter had been dropped, and Junhwe doesn’t know if he feels more relieved or frustrated. “Try these ones instead.”   
  
He rips open another bag of snacks and then begins to feed Junhwe, but Junhwe finds that he’s not done here when he finds himself asking, “Is this about Hanbin?” because as much as he’d told himself that the thing that transpired in the parking lot meant nothing, it sticks with him like gum to the sole of his shoe.   
  
“... _what_?” Bobby asks, shaking his head as if he’d heard Junhwe wrong, hand hanging mid-air with a piece of candy between his finger tips.   
  
“He found me the night before I left the party,” Junhwe explains. Bringing this up feels wrong, somehow, but the words keep rushing out of him, anyway. “Probably thought I was cheating your feelings, or something.”  
  
This time, it’s Bobby’s turn to say _oh_ as he lowers his arm.   
  
“I mean, it’s nothing. He was drunk. Drunk people get weird, you know. He just—“ Junhwe probably shouldn’t be saying this “—likes you a lot. I can tell.”   
  
Bobby just stares at him.  
  
“Which I’m not saying is a bad thing, because I _did_ say get laid, right? That’s cool, I’m fine with it. Just, maybe a warning would be nice. Not a _warning_ , exactly, that sounds wrong. I mean—” Junhwe inhales; the conversation had completely derailed from his expectations and he wonders, briefly, if Bobby could be distracted with a blowjob. _Can’t hurt to try_ , he thinks, and then surges forward to kiss Bobby, who drops the candy to fist the back of Junhwe’s shirt in favour of reciprocating enthusiastically.   
  
_Hanbin’s going to kill me_ , Junhwe thinks absently as Bobby divests him of his shirt. Because if the earlier conversation had been about Bobby venturing towards dating someone else, then Junhwe’s sorry that Bobby now had a thigh wedged between Junhwe’s, has a hand cupped very possessively over Junhwe’s ass, potentially jeopardizing Bobby’s chances at a real, _real_ relationship. But then Bobby’s leaning back against the couch and pulling Junhwe onto his lap, hands roaming _everywhere_ , and Junhwe finds he can’t quite find it in himself to be _that_ sorry at all.   
  
“If I knew that absence made your heart grow fonder,” Bobby’s says in between frantic kisses as Junhwe works Bobby’s pants open. Maybe if he had his hand on Bobby’s dick, he’d be less inclined to verbal diarrhoea. “I’d have gone away so much longer.”  
  
“That’s kinda counter-productive to this whole sex thing we have going,” Junhwe finds himself murmuring as he sits back on Bobby’s thighs so he can to work on the whole shutting Bobby up thing. He gasps when Junhwe starts fisting his cock, but then he laughs, one hand on the curve of Junhwe’s shoulder, the other curling around Junhwe’s hand to pick up his pace.   
  
“I missed you too,” Bobby says, tugging Junhwe closer so he can kiss him again and again and again and by the time Bobby’s gets his hand in Junhwe’s pants, he’d forgotten why he’d started this at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“So what were you saying just now?” Bobby asks, killing the moment entirely. They’re practically glued at each other by this point, metaphorically, and physically, in a really gross way that Junhwe’s going to use as an excuse to disappear into the bathroom to avoid this very uncomfortable question. Bobby hollers after him anyway, “Because you were kind of stuttering—“

  
“Fuck you,” Junhwe says, flipping Bobby the finger as he gets up to go wash his face (and other bodily parts) and consider how to breach this subject without embarrassing himself. Or Hanbin. The kid didn’t deserve that to have Junhwe spilling his secrets, in the event that Bobby hadn’t been referring to him at all.   
  
“Just did,” Bobby responds smugly. Junhwe can hear the squeak of his leather sofa as Bobby presumably gets up to trail after him, and he’s right. The toilet door opens just seconds later, and Bobby saunters in, leaning against the sink counter where Junhwe’s trying to figure out how to get come out of his hair without having to wash it. “So?”  
  
“Do you ever shut up?” Junhwe asks, but when he glances up, Bobby’s wearing his pinched, _I’m concerned, are you dying?_ looks and Junhwe sighs. Bobby would make great friends with Jinhwan, Junhwe thinks off-handedly, and a little dejectedly. One Jinhwan in his life was bad enough. “I just thought that, if you and that Hanbin kid have something going on—“  
  
“First of all, he’s not a kid,” Bobby interrupts, looking a little disappointed for reasons that Junhwe’s too fucked out to figure out. “Secondly, there’s _no way_ that’s ever gonna happen.”   
  
“Don’t say that to his face,” Junhwe tells him, thinking of how fluttery Hanbin had looked, how his expression had shifted from nervous to fierce to protective.   
  
“We’re sleeping together,” Bobby says pointedly, which means that Junhwe’s giving him less credit than he deserves, that _he_ knows that his friend harbours some sort of feelings for him. “He gets it. We understand each other.”  
  
“That’s... great?” Junhwe says, still not quite registering why they were having this conversation at all. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be—Junhwe had envision a drive-in fast food restaurant version of a relationship, and this felt more like one of those _it’s easy to make, it just takes five hours!_ instructional recipes.   
  
“ _We_ , on the other hand,” Bobby says, gesturing between them, and then just leaves it hanging as it is, as if expecting Junhwe to fill in the blanks. He looks a vulnerable, somehow, small, and not at all because he’s naked. Wasn’t this exact look on Bobby’s face right now something that Junhwe had wanted to avoid this all along? Because if Bobby hadn’t been referring to Hanbin, then he could only be referring to the present company.   
  
“ _We_ ,” Junhwe says, raising the wash cloth he’d been using to Bobby’s face to clean off some of the questionable stains on Bobby’s chest, “have a good thing going. In my opinion, at least.” Even as he says that, he can’t quite look Bobby in the eye. _Coward_ , Bobby’s voice rings in his ear, but it’s not in the jesting tone his voice had been earlier, when they were still discussing snacks and not this undefinable thing between them.  
  
“Yeah,” Bobby says, after a long bout of silence. He watches Junhwe’s hand dab at him with little interest, occasionally running his hand through his tousled hair instead. Junhwe feels like he’d fucked this all up somehow, but there’s nothing _to_ fuck up, technically.   
  
“If you want to,” Junhwe starts slowly, setting the washcloth down on the sink, “you could tell your grandparents it’s less of a _sort of_ and more of a _probably yes_.” The words sound foreign even to his ears, and apparently to Bobby’s ears, too, because he’s staring up at Junhwe like he’d just grown a second head. “Only if you want to.”  
  
“You’re not saying this because you think I’m going to cry, are you?” Bobby blurts out suddenly, and Junhwe can’t help the snort that escapes him. Just like that, the weird atmosphere dissipates. “Because _you_ look like you’re going to cry. I’m not— this isn’t— you have to want this too.”   
  
_You don’t even know the half of it_ , Junhwe thinks, as Bobby’s face lights up with a bright, hopeful grin. It’s the dangerous kind, exactly the kind of spark that ignites a fire. But the mirror tells Junhwe that his own face is doing something equally as ridiculous.  
  
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation naked,” Junhwe groans, rubbing the side of his face with his hand before he can start really thinking about the weight of what he’d just said.  
  
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Bobby says, presumably to be reassuring, but he just ends up sounding obnoxiously cheery as he slaps a hand to Junhwe’s bare ass, causing him to make a noise that _isn’t_ a yelp. It doesn’t sting, per se, but Bobby’s in no measure gentle when he fucks with the intention of making Junhwe lose it completely, so it _aches_. “Fuck, I forgot—“  
  
“Tell your grandparents we _definitely_ aren’t dating,” Junhwe says, and he doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until Bobby’s staring at him for the second time that night. It’s unnerving—Junhwe feels like he’s exposing more than he should.  
  
“But they’d be very sad,” Bobby argues, recovering quickly as he tugs Junhwe in closer by his arm. “Devastated. They won’t be able to eat or sleep or study—“  
  
“Your grandparents are schooling?” Junhwe asks.  
  
“Yeah, they’re trying to figure out how to get you to like me more,” Bobby says with a straight face and without missing a beat. Junhwe can’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You, a cold-hearted city ma—“  
  
“You don’t need a college education to tell you that the shit spewing from your mouth right now isn’t helping one bit,” Junhwe says. He can time Bobby’s response to the T, now: first comes the offended pout of his lips, then the whinging noise that Junhwe’s grown scarily accustomed to, and then Bobby’s closing in on him, arms encircling Junhwe’s neck. At least he’s still got his height going for him, Junhwe tells himself grimly, looking down at Bobby as he rolls his eyes. Because in every other area? Junhwe’s utterly gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s more of a social networking event than it actually is a charity program, but as long as money’s going to the needy and name cards are going into Junhwe’s pocket, he can’t be half-assed about what the night is about. Besides, he has Hwasa for company. Between her and the food that’s a little too expensive for this to call label itself as _for charitable purposes_ with integrity and the incessant _it’s not fair I wanna see you in a suit too_ type texts, Junhwe has little to complain about.

  
That is, until Hwasa says, “So I heard from the grapevine…” and raises her eyebrows in a way that somehow communicated exactly what she’s curious about without her having to speak even a word.  
  
“You probably heard wrong,” Junhwe says, offering his arm up to her. The main difference between her and Jinhwan (notwithstanding the fact that they’re different in just about every way possible) is that she doesn’t ask. Not that the alternative is better—she smirks, patting his arm knowingly. _Condescendingly_ , Junhwe corrects, not two seconds later. “Who told you?”   
  
“I thought I heard wrong?” Hwasa teases, as they enter the main hall, already filled to the brim with people noisy in the way that you know consisted solely of people talking business. Before he can start calling out his traitorous friends, she adds, “Hold that thought,” and breaks off to blend in with the throngs of people in her tight black dress and the motivation to go in for the kill.  
  
The next time Junhwe sees her, she’s holding a flute of pink champagne and interrupts by smiling politely at the woman Junhwe’s conversing with. Their exchange had been so mind-numbing that he’d already forgotten half the lady’s name and her title, so he’s more than glad for the opportunity to excuse himself.   
  
What he’s less glad about is Hwasa mumbling, “Kid in the grey suit—either he’s checking you out or he wants to kill you.”   
  
“How are those even _remotely_ connected?” Junhwe questions, because he likes Hwasa well enough, but her taste in men is 100% based on criteria that Junhwe’s a little scared to even think about.   
  
“I can’t think of how I can make it any clearer,” Hwasa replies, and then stops completely, looking over Junhwe’s shoulder with raised eyebrows. “Never mind, here he is.” Junhwe whirls around as casually as it is possible for whirling to have happened. His jaw drops.  
  
“Not you again,” he says, groaning as he closes his eyes. Maybe if he opens them again, that Hanbin kid won’t be standing in front of them both in a cleanly pressed suit, looking every bit like a rich man’s son. Then again, the universe had a track record of shitting on Junhwe’s hopes and wishes.   
  
“That should be my line,” Hanbin shoots back. Next to him, Hwasa hides an amused snort behind her champagne glass. She looks knowing, somehow, in a way that indicated that she knows exactly who Hanbin is. “What are _you_ doing here?”  
  
“Giving to charity,” Junhwe answers without hesitation as Hanbin turns his laser gaze over to Hwasa. She meets him on unequal footing—an amused quirk of her eyebrow for Hanbin’s critical onceover. Then twice over. Then disbelief crosses his face.  
  
“Can I speak with you?” he asks, sounding very much like a principal who’s caught his student misbehaving, but doesn’t quite want to ream him out in front of the rest of the class. It’s a different tone from the person Junhwe’d met one-to-one in the carpark lot, though Junhwe can’t quite pinpoint the disparity. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t want to pinpoint it.  
  
“We’ve talked, remember?” Junhwe asks, making sure his tone weighs the right amount of polite derision.   
  
“I’ll grab another glass,” Hwasa says, before Junhwe can follow up with a _I see you bother strangers even when you’re sober_ , waving her glass in the air. For the second time that night, she disappears, and Junhwe’s left with a very pinched looking Kim Hanbin.  
  
“She’s pretty,” he says, glancing over at where Hwasa’s making a grand show of leaving.  
  
“I’m aware,” Junhwe answers dryly, betting his limbs that this conversation’s going to end up with Bobby and a whole lot of unwarranted possessiveness. Or maybe it’s warranted; after all, Junhwe’s the one intruding into their twosome. Who knows how far Hanbin might’ve gotten into Bobby’s pants had Junhwe not turned up. The thought leaves him bothered, and the thought that he knows _why_ he’s bothered does nothing to alleviate it.   
  
“But she’s not Jiwon,” Hanbin concludes accusingly. Junhwe can’t believe that they’ve had two conversations and both of them involve Hanbin reproaching him about Bobby even if they have nothing else in common aside from a dislike of each other. For once, Junhwe wouldn’t be too averse to discuss the weather. Stormy, with a hint of pissed off non-teenager.  
  
“I’m also aware that she’s female, yeah,” Junhwe says. “Can I ask _you_ something?”  
  
“No,” Hanbin replies, at the same time Junhwe launches straight into, “Why the hell are you so concerned about who he sleeps with?”  
  
There’s a short silence that’s oddly not too awkward and uncomfortable, though Hanbin’s expression is the textbook definition of awkward and uncomfortable. Junhwe wishes he had a drink in his hand, but they’re too far away from the core crowd for him to make a grab for one of those waiters carrying trays.   
  
“Not _who_ he sleeps with,” Hanbin corrects, after a while. He clears his throat. “Just… you.”  
  
“I’m flattered, but—”  
  
“ _You don’t understand_ ,” Hanbin cuts in. Junhwe’s just now realizing that he’s every bit the man in the suit he looks to be, now that he isn’t drunk and sporting a ridiculous beanie.   
  
“Then make me understand,” Junhwe challenges, crossing his arms to demonstrate exactly how unimpressed he’s feeling. Hanbin’s distrust reflects badly on Junhwe because he doesn’t think that Junhwe can want someone like Bobby without having questionable intentions. Which, for the first few months, was largely true, in a sense. And typically, this wouldn’t be a point of contention for Junhwe—who the hell cares what some random kid thinks about him?—but Hanbin was, unfortunately, not just any random kid. He's someone Bobby actually cares about.  
  
“He’s not just some… look, I don’t know how many times you’ve done this—” Junhwe raises his eyebrows but Hanbin just soldiers on, talking just that little bit louder “—but he’s never done it before, okay? So if this is just a game to you, then tell him.”  
  
He’d expected to feel amused or irritation or some combination that’s an intensified version of whatever he’s already feeling. Instead, he feels angry. Defensive. Annoyed for all the wrong reasons.   
  
“What, you think I’m just gonna fuck him and go?” Junhwe baits, his eyebrow raising of its own volition. He spots Hwasa lounging about the bar as she watches the crowd placidly, and his anger rockets, as if feeding on her calm. “Cause the last time I checked, this arrangement we have is mutual. Why don't _you_ tell him you're not happy instead?”  
  
Hanbin gapes at him for a moment, then quickly recovers with a smirk that Junhwe hadn’t expected to come from him. Tonight’s full of surprises, apparently.   
  
“Getting angry? Good,” Hanbin says, and he sounds so much like Jinhwan that Junhwe’s tempted to punch the artsy wire installation behind them because Hanbin’s face looks like an expensive lawsuit.   
  
“Don’t get me wrong,” Hanbin continues. It’s too late, of course, because Junhwe’s impression of him had been steadily plunging since the first time they’d met. “But at least I know you're capable of emotions beyond _asshole_.”  
  
“You’re kidding me, right? Is Bobby gonna burst in from behind that pillar and tell me there’s a camera hidden somewhere?”  
  
“What?” Hanbin asks, then snorts, looking amused. But derision was supposed to be Junhwe’s part in this conversation. “He’s not gonna bust in here and ask you if you’re serious about him, are _you_ kidding _me_? He hardly even talks about you.” If Hanbin had meant for that to sting, it’s working, much to Junhwe’s chagrin. “Which is exactly how I know he’s stupid for you.” That, surprisingly, stings even more.   
  
“You’re not making sense,” Junhwe says, for the sake of saying something. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear it from Hanbin. But Hanbin’s giving him a pitying look now. To think Junhwe’d thought he was annoying earlier on. This is condescension on a whole other level.   
  
“Fix it,” Hanbin says, in a tone that suggests that he’s said that numerous times in his life. “I can’t stand watching him mope. Do you know how many times I’ve seen him buy back family sized pizzas? How many times I’ve watched him _eat_ the whole damn thing?”   
  
“Okay?” Junhwe says. There’s a point in this conversation somewhere, but Junhwe’s not sure if they’re both on the same one.   
  
“No, not okay. _Fix it_ ,” Hanbin repeats, leaning in a little closer and speaking in a manner even more pompous than he had before. It’s a good thing he leaves before Junhwe can test how much self-restraint he possessed.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“What did he want?” Hwasa asks, much much later, when he’s dropping her off at her house. Junhwe honestly can’t even recall much of the conversation besides Hanbin’s thin voice echoing _fix it_ in his head. That, and Bobby moping. That one had stuck to him for the rest of that night.   
  
“To convince me to buy some stocks,” Junhwe says off-handedly, shrugging.  
  
“I didn’t know he’s your type,” Hwasa says, without bothering to entertain Junhwe’s facetious answer.   
  
“He’s _not_ ,” Junhwe insists, making a face. “Wait, you think I have a type?”  
  
“I’ve seen you in college,” Hwasa points out, looking amused as she undos her seatbelt to open the door. Junhwe’s not sure if 11pm is the time he wants to dredge up memories of old relationships and their long-lasting effects. “You like them sweet.”  
  
“We’re not talking about dessert.” But Hwasa ignores him, leaning over the gearshift to kiss him on the cheek. He’d seen her eat five entire courses but her lipstick’s still as red as ever, and slightly sticky.   
  
“Be careful,” she says, patting him on the chest. Then she’s gone, leaving him to wonder whether or not she was referring to his drive home.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The night evidently had one last surprise for him, because he comes home to find the living room dimly lit by the television, the noise filling the room like a quiet murmur. Both his realization that Bobby’s here and the following feeling of warmth is almost instant and simultaneous that he doesn’t even quite register them as he toes off his shoes and loosens his tie with the intention to stay as quiet as possible. 

  
It seems like Bobby has some sort of Junhwe-radar, because he's in the kitchen checking his fridge out to grab a drink when Bobby voice, rough with sleep, rings loudly from his position on the couch: “Bend over a little more.”   
  
Junhwe snorts, snagging his beer and uncaps it as he says, “I didn't give you a key so you have a reason to skip morning classes, you know.” Bobby’s watching him lazily as he walks over to the couch, lifting his legs so Junhwe has room to sit, then splays them across Junhwe’s lap without so much as a word. He has his hoodie drawn across his face, making him look like a human-sized cotton swab, but even that makes Junhwe want to lean over to kiss him. So he does, because he can. “ _And_ I have an actual bed I paid money for.”  
  
“I wanted to wait up for you,” Bobby complains, but the effect isn’t a hundred percent when he ends up yawning and expelling a gust of hot air into Junhwe’s face.   
  
“Okay, that's it.” Junhwe sets his bottle down on the coffee table and snags Bobby’s hand as he gets up. “Bed.”   
  
“Bed?” Bobby asks, but his tone is entirely too suggestive.   
  
“ _Sleep_ ,” Junhwe counters. He pauses for a second to groan, then speeds up, pushing past his bedroom door into the dark room. “I’m starting to _nag_.”  
  
“I like your nagging,” Bobby says. They’re standing face-to-face, and all Junhwe can see of Bobby is the half-cast light on the side of his face from the television, still blaring silently loud. He doesn’t need light, anyway; mapping Bobby out would be easy even if he were blindfolded. “Because you get pissed off. And when you get pissed off, I—”  
  
“—should probably be shutting up and getting to bed so _I_ can go shower?” Junhwe finishes, raising an eyebrow.   
  
“It’s like you want me to stay up,” Bobby says even as he tries to stifle another yawn, eyes watering as he keeps his lips tightly sealed. Typical. “At least let me undress you.”  
  
There’s something more intimate about this—about Bobby’s hands gently loosening Junhwe’s tie to toss it onto the bed, of Bobby’s fingers slowly undoing one button and the next with a kind of concentration that’s wholly unnecessarily for this sort of thing—something that makes Junhwe’s heart thump stupidly. He blinks and he blinks again to clear his mind, but the heavy feeling in his chest doesn’t dissipate and he’s left feeling a little breathless.  
  
“... what?” Bobby asks, pausing at the last button to squint at Junhwe suspiciously.  
  
“What?” Junhwe echoes, planting his hands on Bobby’s hips. It helps anchor him, even if just a little.   
  
“ _What_ ,” Bobby returns, but his confused look’d been replaced with an amused grin. _Oh_ , Junhwe thinks, letting Bobby strip him of his shirt, _that’s what it is_. And then he’s leaning in to meet Bobby’s mouth with his, cutting off whatever the hell Bobby was about to say next. He doesn’t complain—just raises his hand to curl it around the bare skin of Junhwe’s neck. They stay pressed together like that until Junhwe’s skin rises with goosebumps from the cold. When he pulls away, Bobby looks dazed in a way that’s more than just drowsiness. “Didn’t someone insist that they had to shower?”  
  
“Yeah,” Junhwe answers and he swallows, wondering how long he’d been wearing the same look Bobby had without even knowing.   
  
“Then go, because I can’t be held responsible for what happens next,” Bobby says, raising his hands in a mock surrender. Junhwe rolls his eyes but leans in for one last kiss anyway. They’re going to have to make up some new rules.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“They’re not gonna be hounding you for your looks, trust me,” Junhwe says when Bobby peers into the mirror for the umpteenth time, trying to fix his hair when no one else except for Bobby can tell that it’s been done up in the first place. But by the time they park and get out of the car, Bobby looks like he’s ready to hurl.   
  
He’s double-checking the lock when Bobby asks, “Are you sure you need me to come?” and his hand is alarmingly clammy when Junhwe takes and squeezes it in an attempt to be reassuring, though he’s not exactly sure what he should be reassuring him about. It’s only a godamn barbecue party hosted at Yunhyeong’s restaurant. The most they should worry about is indigestion and constipation. Besides, Bobby’s largely a people person. It’s Junhwe who has problems looking interested at prolonged dinner parties.  
  
“You begged me to come,” Junhwe points out, “you stopped saying _goodnight_ and kept saying _take me to the dinner_ instead. Remember that?”   
  
“Yeah, well,” Bobby says, and then doesn’t say anything at all. Which is worrying in itself, but Junhwe’s a) not the kind of person you go to for a pep talk, and b) pretty sure that the best way to prove to Bobby that the only kind of devastating his friends were going to do tonight was to Yunhyeong’s food supply was by meeting them straight up.  
  
He’s right, of course, because he knows his friends, and he _knows_ Bobby. He’d even expected the barrage of embarrassing childhood stories that Jinhwan and Donghyuk readily offer up to Junhwe, who spends most of that portion of the night justifying why he’d torn his pants on the spiked ledge of the school gate, to which Bobby promptly chokes on his beef and slaps Junhwe’s shoulder in a way that should be irritating, but Junhwe’s just grown familiar enough with that it doesn’t even hurt any more.   
  
“I’ve never seen you look more affronted,” Donghyuk says later. They’d been helping Yunhyeong clear out the table but Junhwe had managed to convince him to make a detour and grab some of the remaining beer bottles. Donghyuk’s intended to rest to avoid throwing up dinner; Junhwe wanted to sit out cleaning up altogether.   
  
“At what?” Junhwe asks, distracted with trying to remember how to breathe when his stomach’s trying to compress his lungs.   
  
“When Jinhwan talked about the senior you dated—” Donghyuk stops because Junhwe’s groaning loud enough for a cat to hiss loudly from the nearby shrubbery. “I don’t think he cares if you look a little uncool, Junhwe.”  
  
“I’m not trying to look cool, that’s stupid,” Junhwe says.   
  
“Sure,” Donghyuk says. If he were capable of sincere condescension, Junhwe was pretty sure that would be it. But he isn’t, and in its place, he clinks his bottle against Junhwe’s with a grin. “I’m just happy you finally opened up your heart.”  
  
“You know, I’m pretty sure food poisoning can’t happen this quickly,” Junhwe shoots back because he doesn’t understand how words like that can so easily leave Donghyuk’s mouth. There must be some kind of filter that helps one prevent that sort of shit, right? The kind of filter that he’d been taught was called embarrassment?   
  
“You know what I mean,” Donghyuk says, his tone teasing as his grin amps up a few levels. Junhwe’s tempted to argue, but they’ve known each other for over a decade and they’ve walked through this routine again and again and again and it only serves to remind Junhwe that it’s gotten increasingly less as the years passed.   
  
“Unfortunately,” Junhwe agrees, taking a drink from his bottle as Donghyuk nudges his side.   
  
“You should bring him along more often,” Donghyuk adds, reclining back against the wall as he taps his bottle against his knee, “I like him.”  
  
“You also liked that near homeless man who tried to rob you,” Junhwe points out, “and that kid who shit all over your new shoes.”  
  
“They didn’t mean it,” Donghyuk defends. Junhwe rolls his eyes. “But Bobby’s not—”  
  
“There you guys are!” Bobby’s voice comes from the stairwell, and then his head pokes through the heavy door. “Uh, Yunhyeong asked me to call for you.” He gestures in Donghyuk’s direction. “He told you to stay here so you don’t fuck up the dishwasher again.”  
  
“It was _one time_ ,” Junhwe complains.  
  
“And the only time his kitchen flooded over,” Donghyuk reminisces, with a fond sigh. Bobby looks way too interested for this to be good for Junhwe’s health, so Junhwe gives Donghyuk’s shoulder a very persuasive shove.  
  
“Go,” he tells him, then nods at Bobby, “you come sit here and keep this bench warm.”  
  
They switch places, but not before Donghyuk throws one last knowing glance over his shoulder while Bobby choses to ignore the fact that there’s a solid wall and leans against Junwhe instead.  
  
“Were you guys talking about me?” he questions, completely devoid of that nervousness from earlier. Junhwe wants to say that it’s a good thing, but then he’s back to being insufferably smug again.   
  
“We’re discussing the price of beef in the market,” Junhwe says with a pointed look, letting Bobby curl his arms around Junhwe’s waist in a manner he’s now come to realize is possessive.   
  
“And then me, right?” Bobby asks. His eyes are shining, or Junhwe’s just well on his way to getting drunk. Whichever one it is, his chest constricts in a pleasantly familiar way and he finds himself setting down his bottle so he can drape his arm over Bobby’s shoulder too.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, stopping only because Bobby tips his chin down to kiss him. He tastes like beef and soju and Junhwe’s pretty sure he’s going to have to stay sober so he can lug Bobby’s ass back later. “Sure. You.”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but with eyes shut / it's you i'm thinking of / eye to eye / thigh to thigh / i let go
> 
> a/n: hmu @hyonestly, i promise i'm v. friendly!!!


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